


67 Mississippi

by rubylis



Category: ColdFlash - Fandom, Legends of Tomorrow
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 04:45:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7029160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubylis/pseuds/rubylis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leonard Snart reflects on random moments of his life as he counts down to his death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	67 Mississippi

**Author's Note:**

> This may be a cultural thing, but as kids we used to count off seconds by using the word Mississippi. So one Mississippi would equal one second. This fic is based on the idea of Len doing the same thing and over the years he’s gotten very accurate with keeping track of time this way.

From the moment Sara’s lips part from his until the first searing light from the Oculus steals his vision, Leonard Snart ticks off the last seconds of his life with the same detached preciseness he learned as a child. And even now, after all these years, he uses the same measure. Simplistic but efficient.

One Mississippi.

“Lenny…” Lisa’s small arms wrapped around his waist, fingers interlocked across his stomach, cheek pressed against the small of his back. “Don’t, he’ll hurt you if you’re wrong.” Her stomach growled and he knew she was as hungry as he was.

He gently but firmly loosened her grip. “I’m not wrong.” Then took her hand in his. “Come on. We have to go now.”

He led his sister to the kitchen, grabbed the bread, peanut butter and jelly before Lewis Snart stormed in from the living room to confront them.

“What’d I tell you, boy?”

Reflexively, Len stepped in front of his little sister. “Stay in the closet for five minutes.”

“Well?” Lewis grabbed Len up by the front of his pajama shirt.

“It’s been five minutes.”

Lewis Snart checked his watch. Five minutes had passed. He looked at his son with newfound interest. Exactly five minutes had passed. “How’d you do that?” He switched his grip to Len’s shoulders, the pressure firm but surprisingly not painful. Not this time. “Can you do that again?”

“What’s in it for me?”

Twenty-two Mississippi. At sixteen, partly to prove a point and partly just to piss his dad off, Len let the Central City police catch him. He was sent to jail, not the juvenile center. Just as he planned. He lay in his bunk and listened first to his cellmate’s breathing until he was fast asleep and snoring and then to the guards’ footsteps.

He listened. He counted. And when he knew their pattern, he removed the lock pick hidden in his braces and escaped. Cell. Overhead ventilation duct. The guards’ locker room to pick up street clothes. 

Six hours after being locked up, he finished executing his first successful escape and walked through the door of his home triumphant at proving Lewis Snart wrong. He was capable of pulling off jobs on his own now. And he could get himself out anything he got into.

Unfortunately, as Lewis Snart was quick to hammer home with words and fists, Len hadn’t accounted for the fact that the Snart home was the first place the police would come to look for him. 

Thirty-one Mississippi. Heated argument with Mick. Again. One of them shoved the other. The other shoved back. Somehow this time the yelling and grappling ended with both of them naked and sprawled on Lisa’s bed and twenty-two year old Len fucked into mindless oblivion. For once, he didn’t feel the press of time constricting against his skin, the constant reminder of finite opportunities and limited existence. 

Forty-three Mississippi. He listens to Sara dragging Mick to safety, judges the time it will take for them to clear the Oculus. He eases his grip with the sure touch and expert finesse he’s gained from years of experience taking from others. Not much. Not enough to stop the Oculus from its inevitable destruction. Just enough to steal a few more seconds for his team.

Fifty Mississippi. Comfortably settled in Barry Allen’s home with a cup of hot cocoa studying the Christmas tree without a trace of envy or longing. Or so he tried to convince himself at the time. Under different circumstances, he thought, he might not mind waiting here with bright lights and mistletoe for Barry to come home.

Fifty-eight Mississippi. He admits to a moment of satisfaction as he utters his final words. A last bit of defiance that robs any hope from the Time Lords when they finally realize that yes, he really is a crazy son of a bitch who will sacrifice himself to take them out. Robbing any last hope. The thought amuses him. Still a thief even to the end. 

Sixty-five Mississippi. Sara. Mick. Lisa. 

Sixty-six Mississippi. Barry. 

Sixty-seven Mississippi. The Oculus explodes, the light blinding him before the roar deafens him, leaving him void of all sensation. Until a whirlwind of metal shards, razor thin and just as sharp, cut across his face, piercing his hands as he instinctively raises them protect himself. 

The burning sensation gives way to cold. Len thinks for a moment his body’s going into shock before even that thought fades and he gives himself over to nothingness.

Lips linger over his, warm, firm. Not Sara then. He still can’t see. And his body is on fire, stinging from a hundred small wounds. But he can tell he’s being carried and judging from the speed of the wind on his face, it’s not hard to guess his rescuer’s identity.

“What took you so long, Barry?”


End file.
